Summer on the Canary Islands

La Gomera

I spent the month of May on a finca helping in the garden and around the house of a German man who kept bees 🐝 and made honey. He introduced me to a little bit about the behaviour of the bees and the one thing that stuck with me is that there can not be two queens in a hive. If there are two, one will kill the other. This reminded me of the "queen rivalry" energy I was born into, which is something still in progress for me to clear from the subconscious. (I wrote about this energetic connection -something with Neptune to the Sun ephemeris at birth- in detail in my Ayahuasca on Tenerife blog, if you want to check that out.)

I was very happy to leave San Sebastian and the language school mess behind and move to a beautiful, nature-filled environment with breathtaking views and a sense of peace. My friend visited me for three weeks, which made the experience more enjoyable as we volunteered together and shared the workload.

However, I personally found the labor in the garden on the rugged terrain very tiring and unsafe. Walking up and down the narrow dirt paths between the house and the terraces while carrying heavy loads of organic waste was particularly challenging. Weeding thick, dry grass that reached up to my hips with small, outdated manual tools under the daily heat was also exhausting. This job would have been more suited to someone with significant physical strength—perhaps a man or a very strong woman. But anyway, we survived.

Our host had misread the dates, and his relatives arrived a week earlier than planned, which meant we had to move out of the house. Instead, we were offered the option to stay in a tent. Surprisingly, we survived this too—and even loved it! The tent was set up in the lower garden, where I felt freer and more connected to nature than in the ramshackle house, which was cluttered with our host's neglected belongings.

During my stay, I was stung by both a bee and a strange wasp, which triggered a bit of a phobia. Anytime I heard a bee buzzing nearby, I would become very scared. However, I started to think of the bee as a spiritual animal. I learned that its presence or stings could hold symbolic meaning. Interestingly, I discovered that in Chinese medicine, bee stings are used therapeutically on acupuncture points.

My host was generous enough to lend us his car, allowing us to explore new places on the island during the weekends. One of the highlights of these adventures was finally seeing the infamous Buddha! It was a very long drive from La Laja, and I was thrilled to traverse previously undiscovered roads. I can’t emphasize enough how excited I was to meet the smiling Buda de Arguamul. "A German couple brought it from Southeast Asia, but due to its weight and the poor road conditions it stayed right at the entrance to the village and for about three years it has been another tourist attraction."

Fuerteventura

I continued my volunteering adventures with a family who had three small children. When I arrived, I felt incredibly tired for about four days. It was painful to get up in the mornings, and I often passed out for naps in the early afternoons. It felt as though I had entered a completely different time zone. I also sensed that the heavy load I had carried on La Gomera—both physical and emotional—was finally being released. I believed my body simply needed time to adapt to the new energy of the place and the dynamic of my new hosts, whose mentality and lifestyle were vastly different from what I had experienced before.

One of the highlights of my stay was looking after 3-year-old Simeon, who quickly became my little buddy. He loved spending time at my desk, playing with stickers, coloring books, and water paints. I’d hear his little feet tapping on the gravel outside my studio before he barged in, full of questions, or settled in to help himself to the coloring pens. Simeon primarily spoke Spanish and Dutch, with a little English and Hungarian, which sometimes made communication tricky—but we always managed to laugh through it. We vibed. I even learned the Spanish word besito from him. It’s a cute story, but I’ll keep it to myself for now.

Saturday mornings became our thing. I’d drive him to Lajares to get a croissant, hang out at the market, and play at the playground. Occasionally, we’d visit the beach in El Cotillo, and every time on the way back, I would accidentally take the wrong turn off the high road, causing an unintentional 10-minute detour. It became a bit of a running joke, lol.

My super cool and cozy converted container studio accommodation

Although I love Fuerteventura, this time I didn’t vibe with the island as much as I had in the past. The family I stayed with wasn’t particularly fun, and I often felt alone or bored. Somehow, joy was noticeably absent. The children’s mother fell ill around the time I arrived, and she didn’t fully recover during my stay. She had a persistent fever and a bad cough. I know that, symbolically, the lungs are connected to family, and our thoughts can influence their health. As I gained insight into the family’s life, I began to understand why the mother might have fallen ill—but illness shouldn’t be an excuse to ignore me and seek pity from others.

She didn’t seem to care much about my presence and hardly spoke to me during my stay. Her demeanor was often moody and unhappy. In contrast, the father was more open, smiley, and helpful in his own way. However, both parents seemed deeply absorbed in their own lives, preoccupied with daily responsibilities and the challenges of raising their children. They didn’t seem interested in me as a person and mostly saw me in terms of what I could do for them.

The vibrational messages I picked up from the environment were clear: “Be more heart and less head. The heart gives; the head takes.” This was the message directed at the parents—they needed to reconnect with their hearts to lift the weight of their low vibrational energy.

Despite the lack of fun during my time here, I found moments to enjoy and cherish, and I remained grateful for the experience. I took small trips in the north of the island and even ventured to Isla de Lobos by ferry. Cuddling with the kittens and watching them play always put a big smile on my face. I also enjoyed discovery walks along the deserted roads in the area, marveling at the quirky architecture sprouting up like mushrooms—testaments to the creativity (and wealth) of foreigners and new islanders.

Strangely, I developed an unusual desire to smoke pot during this time. I don’t smoke or drink—ever!—so this feeling surprised me. I found myself wondering: Why now? Why would I want to smoke marijuana in this environment? Regardless, I didn’t act on the impulse. I didn’t meet anyone I felt comfortable enough to ask, even though I knew the island was teeming with opportunities.

Gran Canaria

This is where life became both more exciting and more turbulent.

I flew from Fuerteventura to Gran Canaria to volunteer at a kid’s summer school, but the experience was terrible. I left after just four days and checked into a hostel instead. From there, I took a bus to the south of the island to join a family living in the mountains. My responsibilities included looking after their young daughter and preparing evening meals for the family. Their love for Indian culture gave the place a unique atmosphere, with beautiful music and mantras playing from speakers at night. It deepened my connection to my spiritual side in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

The day I moved to the family’s place, a heatwave hit, making the already warm summer unbearable. I gasped for oxygen and constantly craved cold water to stay alive. The volunteer accommodation was a massive tent—unlike any I had stayed in before. Life here was completely off-grid: no internet or Wi-Fi, and no flushable toilet. Though I tried using the bucket toilet provided, the lack of a lid made it unbearable in the sweltering heat. I eventually started using the family’s indoor bathroom instead.

The heat was unlike anything I’d experienced before. The thermometer inside the tent maxed out at 45 degrees Celsius, but the actual temperature felt closer to 50–55 degrees. Just touching the thermometer burned my fingers. I had to remove my electronics from the tent to prevent overheating and worried about the heat damaging my diving kit.

My daily routine included working three hours in the morning and two hours in the evening. In between, I struggled to survive the oppressive heat. I couldn’t find any place to properly cool down and resigned myself to sweating helplessly through the day. At first, I tried to embrace the extreme conditions by using the tent as a Swedish sauna for a sweating detox. Later, I resorted to wrapping a damp towel around my body, which offered some relief. Most afternoons, I lay on the ground or painted at the small outdoor desk, my brain too overheated to think.

After the initial excitement of living in a new environment wore off, isolation began to set in. With no friends, no car, and no regular bus connections, I felt stuck. The nearest town was an hour’s walk away, accessible only via the Camino de Santiago trail through the forest. The beach, which I longed for, was not in the picture.

The parents here were also going through a difficult phase in their relationship—though it seemed to be primarily the mum. This led me to reflect on why I seem subconsciously drawn to working with unhealthy families. The answer became clear: I grew up in a similarly dysfunctional environment. I suspect that Ayahuasca, which I experienced previously, is still active in my vibration, bringing unresolved issues to the surface for me to confront and heal. I’ve heard stories of people taking a year or more to fully understand and integrate the lessons revealed during the ceremony, and I believe this is part of my journey too.

The mother in this family was especially puzzling. I suspected she might have been struggling with mental health issues. She was aloof, lethargic, and often unreasonable. Whether it was an inability or unwillingness to engage, she rarely spoke and seemed detached from everything around her. Most of her days were spent sleeping, watching TV, or sitting on the stairs, staring blankly into space. She appeared depressed—lifeless, even.

Her behavior became even more concerning when it came to her sense of judgment, which struck me as disturbingly apathetic. One evening, while we were dining, I saw one of the cats walking toward us with her belly visibly cut open. Alarmed, I immediately put down my fork and told them what I saw. The father followed me to check, quickly explaining that he had taken the cat to the vet earlier that day for sterilization. Suddenly, the situation made sense.

However, things escalated quickly. As the father and I searched anxiously in the dark for the cat, the mother remained seated, continuing her dinner as if nothing had happened. When the cat reappeared about 15 minutes later, her condition had worsened—her guts were now hanging out of her belly. The father and I sprang into action, wrapping the cat in a towel and rushing her to the emergency vet. Thankfully, the cat survived, though she needed quarantine and medication for the next few days.

What stood out the most during this ordeal was the mother’s complete indifference. She didn’t show any concern for the cat’s well-being, nor did she help with her care afterward. This detached, nonchalant attitude seemed to define her character and left a lasting impression on me.

The three families I encountered over the summer had one thing in common: unhappy mothers. Mothers who couldn’t smile. Mothers who were exhausted by their lives. Mothers who had lost their sense of self in the process of fulfilling a role that patriarchal society imposes on them. These roles, shaped centuries ago and immortalized in fairytales written by men, continue to dictate the dreams and expectations placed on women today. Interestingly, these fairytales only take us to the point of marriage—the moment the prince and princess say, "I do." What happens after? We’re given the vague reassurance that "they lived happily ever after." But what does that really mean? It doesn’t teach us how to communicate with our partners, how to navigate challenges, how to make consistent efforts, or how to respect each other’s needs and boundaries. It’s a fantasy that leaves out the messy, complex reality of relationships.

Women, ask yourselves: What do YOU want? What do you really desire in your life? Reflect on this and take action to pursue it.

Who do you want to be? Imagine for a moment that there were no societal expectations, no one watching, no one to judge or influence you. Who would you be then? That is the person you need to connect with—the real you. Let her out. Start living as her.

"Most of us are in relationships for survival purposes."

This is why it’s so crucial for women to find themselves before they commit to a partner or decide to have children. Children absorb their parents’ vibrations—their mental, emotional, and physical states—and equate them with love. A mother’s and father’s behavior, patterns, and love language become the blueprint that shapes their child’s understanding of relationships and self-worth.

Roque Nublo

This rock holds a special place in my heart. It was my second visit to this magical spot—first to watch the sunset in 2017, and now, the sunrise in 2022. Words fail to fully capture its essence. When you come here, you just know. It feels like a powerful connection to everything that has been and everything that will be. Sublime. Trust. Peace within.

I met a man who had spent the night at the foot of the rock. He shared how, during the night, he was overcome with emotion and found himself crying before feeling compelled to hug the rock. Over coffee that he kindly made for us, we talked for about half an hour, and during our conversation, I felt a deep stirring within me—an urge to shed tears myself. Something profound had touched me.

Peter (pictured next to me) and I lingered for another hour, enveloped in a sense of peace and gratitude. While I was up there, clarity finally came to me. For weeks, I’d been struggling with whether to remain on the islands. Financially, I was stretched thin, and good opportunities for work or volunteering were elusive. But here, at this rock, I could see things more clearly. I found peace with the idea of saying goodbye to the Canaries.

Hostel life & hostel buddies

Spending a few nights at the hostel in Las Palmas was easily one of the best things that happened to me this summer, alongside the hike to Roque Nublo. Finally, I was surrounded by fun, like-minded people. It felt so good to socialize after being stuck in isolating situations, working for people who fostered separation and distance. Here, we were travellers and volunteers from all over the world, sharing stories and seeking out adventures. The place was full of heart, and I absolutely loved the energy—it made me feel like I belonged.

One day, five of us rented a car and did a full circle around the island. Our first stop was a waterfall we’d heard about, so we hiked through a rocky valley only to discover that the sun had dried it up completely. Laughing it off, we drove to Amadores Beach for a swim and then to the sand dunes. At one point, two of us cheekily snuck into a fancy hotel to use the restroom. After finding the bathroom near the outdoor pool, we figured, why not?—and jumped in for a quick swim! We even dried off on the sun chairs, acting as if we were hotel guests. It was bold, spontaneous, and so much fun. 😊

Later, we drove back to Las Palmas, dropping one of the girls off at the ferry port as she headed to Fuerteventura. The rest of us returned to the hostel, buzzing from the day’s adventure.

Leaving this place in early August was heartbreaking. Letting go was incredibly hard, and I’m still processing the changes.